Page 18 of Whispers of Sweetwater

Hayden shifted to give her room. ‘I’ve kept him down. He was thrashing pretty hard when I found him. He’s cooled a little but still looks bloated.’

‘He’s definitely twisted,’ she said, already pressing her fingers into the gelding’s belly, gauging the tension. ‘Let’s get his heart rate.’

He handed her the stethoscope without question.

Their movements folded into one another seamlessly. With urgency driving her, Brianna worked quickly, voice low as she rattled off numbers, symptoms and next steps. Hayden nodded, already ahead of her, fetching the IV pack from her Hilux before she’d even asked, securing Diesel’s halter to a nearby tree post for gentle restraint. She had to silently admit that as a man who lived and breathed horses, he made the perfect assistant.

‘How long did he graze this paddock yesterday?’ she asked, prepping a needle.

‘About six hours. It’s the new ryegrass section,’ he replied, worry tightening his voice. ‘I rotated him in with the others but pulled them yesterday arvo, before I headed into town. Didn’t spot anything wrong then.’

‘Colic can hit like a truck,’ she muttered. ‘Could’ve been something he drank, or just bad luck.’ She met his gaze then, and the furrow in his brow caught her off guard. Deep, worn-in lines of worry.

This wasn’t just a routine emergency for him. This horse meant something.

‘You’ve had him a while?’

‘Since he was four,’ Hayden said, voice low. ‘We cut cattle together for ten years. He’s one of the good ones.’

Brianna reached out instinctively, her gloved hand brushing his arm for the briefest moment. ‘Then let’s fight for him.’

He nodded once, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. But beneath it was something else. That same heaviness she’d sensed the night before. The kind that lingered long after laughter had faded, and the bar had closed. She didn’t ask. Not yet. But she filed it away.

Twenty minutes later, the first bag of fluids was in, Diesel’s spasms had started to subside, and Brianna finally let out the breath she’d been holding. ‘He’s stabilising,’ she said. ‘Still touch and go, of course, but we’ve bought him time.’

Hayden crouched beside her again, elbows resting on his knees. ‘Thank you, Bri.’

She looked at him, really looked this time. The stubble on his jaw. The crease in his shirt. The quiet in his eyes that seemed to say everything he hadn’t spoken yet. ‘You did everything right, Hayden,’ she offered softly.

‘Yeah,’ he murmured, though the words didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m just glad you answered the call.’

She packed her supplies away slowly, giving herself a moment to breathe, to steady her own heart. ‘I always will,’ she replied, not meaning to say it so plainly. But it was out there now, suspended between them like the morning mist over the paddocks.

Hayden didn’t reply straight away. But when he stood, brushing the dirt from his jeans, he turned back to her with something close to a smile. ‘Coffee while we wait it out?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got roasted beans that’ll put Molly’s to shame.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Now that is a dangerous claim.’

He shrugged. ‘Guess you’ll have to come find out.’

And before she could talk herself out of it, she nodded.

Hayden led the way towards the homestead, his long strides relaxed now that Diesel was stable. The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was the kind of quiet that came after intensity, as if both of them had stepped out of a storm and were still catching their breath. The scent of warming earth and sun-dried grass trailed after them as they crossed the paddock. Duchess grazed nearby, already calm again, and Diesel, still tethered in the shade with a second fluid line running, was dozing in the dirt, no longer trembling.

The back door creaked open as Hayden pushed it inwards, holding it for her. ‘Don’t judge the mess,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I wasn’t exactly expecting company this morning.’

Brianna stepped into the farmhouse kitchen and instantly felt the warmth of it – wooden countertops worn smooth with age, iron pots hanging above the stove, a windowsill lined with little pots of herbs. It wasn’t fancy, but the home felt real. Lived in. Cosy.

‘I’d be disappointed if it was spotless,’ she replied. ‘It would ruin the whole rugged charm thing you’ve got going on.’

Hayden gave her a mock glare. ‘Are you saying I’m predictable?’

She shrugged, her lips curving. ‘I’m saying you’re on brand.’

He chuckled, opening a tin and scooping freshly ground beans into the filter. ‘You take it black?’

‘Sometimes. But I wouldn’t say no to a dash of milk. And maybe a spoon of sugar, if it’s strong enough to wake the dead.’

‘You’re in luck. This stuff could raise Lazarus.’